My Darling America
by EndlessReign
Summary: Out of the times England thought about America, it took a random citizen for him to finally write a letter (and not a very good one at that). Fem!America Brother!England USUK One-Shot


It was just one of those typical days in England. The kind where it was cold, cloudy, and drizzling slightly. The wind whipped harshly, but it didn't deter the mass of people who were walking down the streets of London carrying umbrellas over their heads. The people who lived there did not expect the weather to be any different, and the tourists didn't have a choice in the matter; most of them could be seen running to the nearest shop to purchase an umbrella, if they didn't have one already.

Arthur Kirkland sat on a wet wooden bench, by himself, holding a black umbrella. He sulked, staring at the happy people, and counted the number of times a red double decker bus went by; so far it had been nearly 50 times. His pants had long since been soaked, and his blonde hair was plastered to his face. The cold feeling in his body had vanished hours ago. He had been sitting on the bench since dawn, and his mind was numb with sorrow. Francis, Matthew, and his siblings knew that he wanted to be left alone on this particular day. He was thankful that they understood what he was feeling- even though he felt like this every day. It was still nice for them to be thinking of him, even when everyone knew War was approaching with Germany.

Unfortunately that was all he ever was, even with them: alone. He wasn't always alone. He had once been happy with companionship a long time ago, but that was a topic that hurt too much to even think about. Yet, here he was, today of all days, thinking of things that could have been if he would have done things differently.

He sighed deeply trying to think of something else- anything- as he felt a single tear slide down his cheek. Arthur hastily wiped it away, trying to suppress the sorrow and regret within him.

"Are you well?" A young British girl asked sitting down next to him on the bench. She had long dirty blonde hair and bluish grey eyes. He had to do a double take at her appearance, but she was just another ordinary British girl. Her hair looked knotty, and she was abnormally skinny. Her clothes were completely soaked through with rain, and it looked like she had been wearing them for a while.

Arthur didn't know what to make of this girl. No one ever came up to talk to him, unless he talked to one of the people first, and especially not on this day. "Yes, I… I am well, of course." The girl stared at him, while he sighed deeply and looked at the ground. "What brings you out to London on a day like today?"

"Oh, it is a long story…" She said, also sighing and looking at the ground for a minute. He turned and faced her, a questioning look in his eyes. "I wish I did not do it… but Mum was pestering me. I could never do anything I wanted! It was becoming too much, and I know I hurt her… I do. You should have seen her face, the way she looked at me when I had begun to turn away. My older brother did this to her, and she hasn't been the same since. I haven't seen him in four years… the last I heard he went to Germany and joined the army."

Arthur just stared at her not knowing what she was rambling on about. She saw the confused look in his eyes, and sighed.

"Alright, I suppose I will tell you the whole story because you obviously do not understand. Well, my Mum, she… I suppose she did not want me to grow up. She was always so over protective. I could not go anywhere or do anything unless she was around. It was bloody annoying; I could not even sleep over at my best mate's house because she could not let me go during the night. I know she became worse when my brother disappeared, but I think that is why he ran away, too. I decided the only way I could be happy was to run away… only I am not. I miss her terribly, and I know she always wanted the best for me. I can still see the tears in her eyes, as I was yelling at her…" the girl said as tears fell freely down her cheeks. "Do you think I still have another chance? Do you think I can still go back home?"

Tears had been falling down his cheeks as he listened to her. "Your Mum would love that."

"Are you crying because something similar happened to you?" She said, rubbing her eyes.

Normally he wouldn't tell anyone his problems- especially some human girl, but he hadn't talked about his problems in over one hundred years. The only one who had ever tried to comfort him was Matthew, and even then it only lasted for a few weeks. He was hurting and there was someone who actually wanted to listen for a change.

"I had a-a little girl. She meant the world to me, a-and I let her slip through my fingers. I-I thought that if I-I let h-her go, she would leave m-me. I d-did not realize that I only pushed her away. I c-could have let her have a bit of freedom… b-but I chose to m-make her suffer. I still love her so much… i-if o-only she c-could see," Arthur stuttered. Her let out a choked sob and tears fell rapidly from his cheeks. The British girl threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

"Do not give up hope. She will come back to you, just like I am going to go back to my Mum. Thank you for helping me see, but I have to get to my Mum," the girl said hopping of the bench. She smiled and waved as she ran down the street, until she was too far away to see.

Arthur knew his little girl wouldn't come back. She had been gone far too long for that to ever happen. He had lost her, and that was that. He hadn't even seen her since December 24th in 1814, when the Treaty of Ghent was signed, and it was now 1914.

O.o.O

After his emotional encounter with that runaway British girl, he sadly went home, and walked into a memory filled bedroom. While his house changed with each decade, this was the only room that remained the same since it was arranged. The walls looked like a field, with real moving buffalo roaming around. America's bedroom.

He sat down at her writing desk and looked at all of the crumpled letters that he was going to write to her in the waste basket. All of his attempts at writing her never worked out. England told himself that he never really had anything important to say to her in the first place, but he was actually just afraid. He was afraid that she would write back, pouring all of her pent up hatred into the letter, but he was even more afraid that she would not respond at all. Her last rejection would kill him.

But England remembered that he was not a weak country. Eventually America would need his help, since she was too naïve and would soon be ruled by dumb politicians, anti-choicers, and homophobics, which all go against her constitution and freedom of beliefs (he dabbled in magic after all). He would write to his poor, sweet America because he still loved her through everything that happened between them. On this special July 4th, it would show her that he still cared.

And if she wrote back without hostility, he would support her and give her tokens of appreciation. Maybe they could be friends again.

He wrote:

_My Darling America,_

_Happy Birthday_

_-England_

It was a start.


End file.
